


Recommendations

by inkandpaperhowl



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpaperhowl/pseuds/inkandpaperhowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaladin falls in love with a bookseller at the local bookstore, and then fails several times at basic communication while attempting to exchange numbers so that he can ask him out for coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recommendations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kogiopsis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kogiopsis/gifts).



“You,” Sigzil says, setting down his book-laden basket by the pillar Kaladin is leaning against, “are hopeless.”  
  
Kaladin doesn’t even glance at his friend, focused as he is on the man shelving books from a cart a bit further down the row. Sigzil waves his hand in front of Kal’s face and is rewarded with a slight jump as Kaladin realizes Sig is talking to him.  
  
“Shut up,” he says lamely, his eyes flicking back to the shelver.  
  
“Just go talk to him.” Kaladin’s eyes widen in fear. Sigzil sighs in exasperation. “Come on, you’ve spent the last ten minutes watching him shelve books. He probably thinks you’re some kind of creepy stalker at this point. If you don’t go talk to him, you will forever be cemented in his mind as ‘That Creepy Guy Who Once Watched Me Shelve for an Hour’. You don’t want that.”  
  
“It hasn’t been an hour.”  
  
“It’s been long enough for me to scour the entire history section and find all twelve books on my syllabus.”  
  
Kaladin grunts.  
  
“Well, you certainly won’t win him over that way.” They both watch the shelver a few more seconds. Sigzil wonders if he’s sweating nervously under their combined gaze. Kaladin can’t help thinking that the way he flicks his hair out of his eyes after leaning over to put something on the bottom shelf is altogether too attractive. “Go. Talk. To. Him.”  
  
“What am I going to say to him?” Kaladin shoots back, dragging his gaze away.  
  
“Well, storms, I don’t know,” Sigzil says, “maybe you could ask him to help you find a book.”  
  
Kaladin stares blankly at him. “You know, since we’re in a bookstore. And he clearly works here.”  
  
“Right,” Kaladin says. “Why didn’t I think of that?”  
  
“Because you’re a besotted fool. Go.” And with that Sigzil picks up his teetering stack of books and shoves Kaladin down the row.  
  
The shelver glances up at Kaladin as he approaches, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiling politely. Kaladin can’t help noticing that his eyes are the same pale blue as the sky when it stops raining. He grins nervously back.  
  
“Can I help you find something?” the shelver asks.  
  
“Uh,” Kaladin coughs in an effort to clear his throat. It doesn’t work. “Yes, uh, I need help, um. A book.” He clears his throat again and internally bashes his head against the nearest wall. “Sorry. I need help finding a book.”  
  
“Yes,” the shelver says, gesturing to the bay he’d been working on as if to say this is a bookstore, of course you’re looking for a book. The wall in Kaladin’s head takes another beating. “What are you looking for.”  
  
“I’m not sure,” Kaladin says, and he breathes in as the shelver turns and starts making his way toward the nearest computer terminal, indicating for Kaladin to follow him. Without the distraction of the man’s eyes, Kaladin finds it much easier to speak. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure of the title. A friend recommended it to me a while ago and I lost the paper where I’d written it down.”  
  
“Well, do you know the author?” the shelver logs into the computer terminal and waits, fingers poised over the keys.  
  
“No,” Kaladin says, and he watches the light die in the shelver’s eyes as he realizes that Kaladin is a difficult customer. His smile is still fixed firmly in place.  
  
“Oh, well…do you know what it’s about?”  
  
“I think the cover is orange.” The shelver blinks at him.  
  
“Oh,” he says. “It’s this way.” He leads him away from the computer and down several aisles.  
  
“What?”  
  
“The orange book that everyone’s friend has recommended to them at one point or another,” the shelver says. Kaladin can’t help but stare at the slender and delicate fingers trailing across the spines of books as the shelver looks for one in particular. “Here.” He presents a copy of _The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime_. “The orange book.”  
  
Kaladin blinks and pulls his gaze away from the hands to look at the book, which has a violently orange cover with the figure of a small, upside-down dog cut out of the middle.  “Right. Yeah. It certainly is orange.” He accepts the book, holding it awkwardly in front of him. There’s a pause.  
  
“Is there…anything else…I can help you with?”  
  
“Nope,” Kaladin says. “I think I’m all good.”  
  
“Right, well, have a good rest of the day,” the shelver says, moving down the row.  
  
“Yes, have fun shelving!” he calls out. The shelver pauses to glance at him, smiles a bit in acknowledgment of the parting, and then disappears down the next row.  
  
Kaladin finds the nearest pillar and really does bang his head against the wall.  
  
Sigzil sidles up to him with a massive grin on his face. Kaladin groans.  
  
“That went well,” Sig says slyly.  
  
“Storming ruins, he’s never going to speak to me again! He’s going to see me coming down the row and turn and run the other way.” He drops the orange book into Sigzil’s basket, and his friend raises his eyebrow.  
  
“I have that book at home. It’s not as good as everyone makes it out to be.”  
  
“Okay, well, we have to buy it, ‘cause I’m not giving it back to him to put away and I don’t remember where he got it from.”  
  
“Fine, we’ll buy it. Why any apartment needs two copies of this thing is beyond me, but fine.”  
  
They make their way to the registers and head home, where Sigzil loudly and joyously recounts Kaladin’s failed advances to their roommates while Rock and Lopen laugh. Kaladin finds himself laughing with them, still greatly embarrassed by his nervousness, but knowing that he must have sounded pretty hilarious.  
  
“It’s okay, gancho,” Lopen says, slapping Kaladin on the back, “You’ll get him next time.”  
  
Kaladin laughs, but remains utterly convinced there isn’t going to be a next time.

\-----

About a week later, Kaladin gets caught in a thunderstorm on his way back to the apartment, and ducks into the bookstore to avoid the worst of the rain. He stands in the vestibule for a moment, trying not to drip on the books, and looks up through the inner doors to see the shelver standing uncomfortably behind the registers. He almost walks straight back out into the rain, but a particularly loud clap of thunder sounds overhead, and he sucks in a deep breath and enters the store.  
  
He is greeted by a girl with red hair, who asks if he needs help finding anything.  
  
“Nah,” he says, “I got caught in the rain and thought I’d wait for it to die down at least a little bit.”  
  
“Of course,” the girl says, smiling back. “We do sell umbrellas.”  
  
“Right,” he says. “I might look into that.”  
  
“They’re by the door,” she replies, pointing toward the front of the store.  
  
“Yep,” he says. “Okay, thanks.” She nods, looking pointedly at the water still dripping from the ends of his hair, and leaves. He sighs, makes his way into the bathroom, and slicks a hand through the offending strands in an attempt to wring some of the rain into the sink.  
  
He doesn’t think it’s working.  
  
The rain levels off just as he finishes poking through the bargain section, and though it shows no signs of stopping, it’s slowed enough that he thinks he can make it home without getting drenched. Or...more drenched. He heads toward the door, trying pointedly to not watch the shelver from last time pacing behind the register counter. His hands flutter nervously in front of him as he paces, and he flinches whenever thunder sounds from above. Kaladin bites his lip, remembering how terribly the conversation had gone the last time he’d attempted it, but he can’t help it.  
  
He picks up an umbrella from the rack by the door and makes his way to the Line Forms Here sign.  
  
The shelver looks up as Kaladin appears in his line of vision and gives a weak smile.  
“I can help you down here,” he says, voice quiet and perhaps shaking a little, and stops behind his register. Kaladin smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner and approaches the counter.  
  
“Hi,” he says. The shelver smiles. “Oh.” Kaladin puts the umbrella on the counter.  
  
“Did you enjoy the orange book?” the shelver asks.  
  
“What?” Kaladin replies, blinking in shock. He _remembered?_ Storms...  
  
“You were in here a week ago asking for the orange book. Sorry, I was just...Sorry.”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” Kaladin says, recovering as he watches the shelver’s hands nervously pick up the umbrella and search for the tag and run the tag under the laser. “I...haven’t had a chance to read it yet.”  
  
“Oh,” the shelver sounds disappointed. “Well, if you do get around to it, you’ll have to come back for better suggestions.”  
  
“Better--”  
  
“Sorry,” the shelver says again. “I didn’t mean...I shouldn’t say bad things about the books.” Kaladin laughs. The shelver smiles a bit sheepishly.  
  
“It’s okay,” Kaladin says, “you’re allowed to have opinions.”  
  
“Right,” the shelver says. “Your total is $17.39.”  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“For the umbrella?”  
  
“Oh, right.” Kaladin wants to smack himself in the head, or kick himself in the kneecaps, but settles for pulling out his wallet and counting the change onto the counter.  
  
“What do you recommend?” he asks.  
  
“Sorry?” They seem to be apologizing to each other a lot.  
  
“Books. Instead of the orange one. What do you recommend?”  
  
“Well--” the shelver pauses as thunder rumbles in the distance and he winces. Kaladin stifles the instinct to reach across the counter to put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. The thunder passes, and the shelver stills his shaking hands by pressing them into the counter for a second before reaching under the register to pull out a bag.  
  
“Oh, I don’t need a bag,” Kaladin says.  
  
“Yes,” the shelver says. “Of course, you’re walking. And the rain. Right. Of course. Sorry.”  
  
“You don’t need to apologize,” Kaladin says, smiling again. This time, he thinks he sees the tiniest hint of a smile in the corners of the shelver’s lips. “So, if I come back next week, maybe Wednesday, and ask you for recommendations for books better than the orange one, would that be okay?”  
  
“I won’t be here next Wednesday,” the shelver says, a trace of regret coloring his voice. “But I’ll be here. Um. We’re not supposed to give out our schedules...” he pauses, glancing at Kaladin, who nods.  
  
“Right, sorry. I might be creepy,” he laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ll just stop in sometime, then.”  
  
“Okay,” the shelver brightens. “Um. You can ask for me, if you like. My name is Renarin.” He lifts up the badge hanging on his lanyard, displaying the name printed on the bottom of it.  
  
“I’ll do that,” Kaladin says. Before he can say something to make this conversation go wrong, he grabs his new umbrella and dashes out of the store. It’s not until he’s splashing through puddles three blocks away that he realizes he didn’t tell Renarin what his name was.  
  
“Storms, I’m so bad at this!” he shouts at the sky. He gets a few confused stares from other pedestrians, but no replies. Not even the sky grumbles back.  
  
\-----  
  
Though he’d meant to wait a week, Kaladin finds himself at the bookstore again after only a few days. Rock asked him to pick up a new dictionary for the apartment, since half of them speak various languages better than the language that all of them speak, and the last dictionary they’d had was accidentally set on fire when it was used to look up conflicted pronunciations while cooking.  
  
The girl who made disparaging faces at his wet hair last time sniffs when he asks her where reference is. She leads him to a whole wall of dictionaries and tells him that if he needs any further help, she’ll be around. He can feel her surreptitiously watching him from the next row, her sorting device beeping rapidly. He rolls his eyes and begins perusing dictionaries.  
  
Renarin walks past the end of the row, but Kaladin pretends not to notice. He also pretends not to notice when his heart rate goes up.  
  
He stops pretending when Renarin backtracks and comes down his row, smiling.  
  
“Hi,” he says. “You finding everything okay?”  
  
“Hi,” Kaladin says, smiling. “Again.” Renarin nods and glances toward the dictionaries in Kaladin’s hands. One is large, heavy, and blue. The other is larger, heavier, and green. Renarin makes a face.  
  
“You want the red one.”  
  
“Yeah?” Kaladin asks, putting the green one back on the shelf and pulling out the largest and heaviest red one he can see. “This one?”  
  
Renarin nods. “It’s the one most colleges require and/or recommend.”  
  
“Oh, it’s not for college,” Kaladin says quickly. “It’s...to resolve spelling disputes. And pronunciation fights.”  
  
“Oh.” Renarin blinks. “Pronunciation fights?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s...kind of a long story.” Kaladin can feel the red-haired bookseller in the next row staring at the back of his head, and knows she dropped all pretense of not watching him to make sure he’s not shoplifting when he said he wasn’t in college. He can’t tell if he’s blushing or not. “Anyway, I...should get going.”  
  
“Oh,” Renarin says, and there’s a definite drop in the set of his shoulders. Kaladin winces. “Okay.”  
  
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m actually late for work.” The lamest excuse ever. He sighs, and backs down the aisle, the fat, red dictionary held in front of him almost like a shield. “Bye.”  
  
He doesn’t wait to hear if Renarin responds, but the sound of the red-haired employee’s laughter follows him down the stairs and all the way to the registers. He’s definitely blushing now.  
  
\-----  
  
He manages to not go to the bookstore for the next two weeks, and he’s pretty proud of himself. Sigzil keeps making fun of him, and becomes almost unbearable when he walks into the kitchen one morning for breakfast and finds Kaladin actually reading the orange book over his cereal. Kaladin tries not to make a big deal out of it, but every time they have to drag the obnoxiously large dictionary from it’s shelf above the stove where it stands next to Rock’s cookbooks, he blushes a little bit. He can’t help remembering the way Renarin had bit his lip before offering his advice, like he wasn’t sure his input would be welcome. Kaladin wants to tell him that his input was more than welcome. Of course, then he remembers the red-haired bookseller and sighs. She probably thought he was an idiot.  
  
He honestly can’t blame her.  
  
When he runs out of books to read, he manages to finagle rides to the library from Lopen and Moash, but eventually there comes a Friday when Lopen is in class, and Moash is at work, and Sigzil is already at the library studying, and Rock is busy at the restaurant. Which leaves Kaladin both carless, and out of things to read.  
  
It’s awful. And there are so many other things he could do--he could break into Moash’s apartment and play his video games. He could crack Sigzil’s Netflix password. He could go somewhere for lunch. But if he’s already out and going places and walking toward town, he...might as well....just...stop by...  
  
He has his shoes on before he finishes the thought, and that’s what finally convinces him that he’s serious about this and should probably at least tell the poor boy his name this time.  
  
Yeah, he still hasn’t done that.  
  
Renarin spots him almost as soon as he walks in the door, and comes up to him with a smile and a greeting more pleasant than just-a-polite-retail greeting.  
  
“I finished the orange book,” Kaladin says triumphantly.  
  
“About time,” Renarin says. “And what did you think?”  
  
“It was...” Kaladin pauses, tilting his head to the side. They are standing by the new paperback releases table, and Renarin’s fingers are ruffling the edges of the nearest book, flipping through them rapidly over and over again. Kaladin swallows. “It was...” He has to stop himself from reaching out to still the restless movement, to take that hand in his own and loop his fingers around those... “It was,” he finishes lamely, dragging his gaze away from Renarin’s hand.  
  
The bookseller smiles at him.  
  
“That’s an apt description of that book, I think,” he says. “Were you looking for anything in particular today?”  
  
_Your phone number and the promise of a date later in the week_. “Not really,” Kaladin says. “Something better.”  
  
Renarin tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed as he thinks. “Better is subjective,” he says finally, “but I think we can come up with something you’ll like.” He leads the way into the stacks, past all the flashy tables of shiny, new hardcovers and racks of bestsellers where the authors’ names are printed larger than the titles. He starts pulling books off the shelves in backlist--books that have funny titles and serious descriptions on the backs, books that don’t have blurbs from famous newspapers proclaiming their grandeur.  
  
These books are quiet and personal and Renarin’s eyes light up when he talks about them, when he describes the barest hint of a plot hook that might interest Kaladin, when he mentions how deep that one character is, when he says, very simply, “This one is my favorite.”  
  
That’s really all Kaladin needs, and he ends up with three books based on Renarin’s endorsement alone. Renarin smiles when Kaladin thanks him.  
  
“Please, it’s my job.”  
  
“No,” Kaladin says, “your job is to...well, sell books. But you’re _recommending_ them. There’s a difference.” He smiles sheepishly when Renarin blushes and mutters and quiet _thank you_ that Kaladin almost doesn’t hear.  
  
“Sorry I took up so much of your time,” he says finally. “I’m sure you have better things to do than spend half and hour with one annoying customer who doesn’t know what he’s looking for.”  
  
“It’s no trouble,” Renarin says, and that hint of a blush is back. “I don’t mind helping you--helping customers like you,” he quickly corrects himself, and his hands flutter nervously again before he stuffs them in his pockets. “It’s no trouble,” he repeats.  
  
“Well, thank you,” Kaladin says. Before he can say anything else, the red-haired bookseller appears at the end of the row.  
  
“Ready for your break, Renarin?” she asks pointedly.  
  
“Um. Yeah,” he says, looking from her to Kaladin and back again. “I...sorry. I was with a customer.” He nods at Kaladin.  
  
“It’s fine,” the other bookseller says. “Do you need me to take over?”  
  
“No,” Kaladin says quickly. “Thank you, but I think Renarin covered it. I’m good.” He mouths another thank you in Renarin’s direction and beats a hasty retreat, but Renarin’s,  “Thanks, Shallan,” follows him into the next row.  
  
“For rescuing you from the awkward, oh fine I _suppose_ he’s _not_ a shoplifter? You're welcome.”  
  
“I didn’t need rescuing,” Renarin says, and then their voices fade away as they walk back toward the information desk and Kaladin leans against a bay in the biography section until he’s sure they’re gone. He tries very hard to focus on the part where Renarin said he didn’t need rescuing and to ignore the part where Shallan thought he was a shoplifter. He glances down at his worn out, oversized leather jacket and makes a face: alright, maybe he looks more the part than he thinks he does.  
  
But either way, Renarin didn’t need rescuing from him, even if he is awkward.  
  
That thought puts a bounce in his step all the way to the register, where he buys Renarin’s favorite book, and all the way home, where he sits down immediately to start reading it.  
  
It really is very good.  
  
\-----  
  
Two days later, Kaladin is in agony.  
  
Renarin’s favorite book has a sequel.  
  
And he needs it. Now. As soon as possible. Preferably before breakfast, except no where is open that early, especially not the bookstore. Besides that, he has to go to work, where he’s pulling a double shift. He’ll be stuck at Kholin Labs until midnight. Which is, of course, long after the bookstore closes.  
  
The next day is Rock’s birthday, and it is consumed by brunch with the apartment--a disastrous affair, as is any affair in which someone other than Rock tries to cook--and laser tag, and dinner with all their friends at the restaurant, and he doesn’t have time to slip out and buy the book. Not that he would have had time to read it even if he did get his hands on it.  
  
If he’d had Renarin’s number, this wouldn’t be a problem, because he could just text him about the cliffhanger, and complain about the suspense, and beg for spoilers from the sequel. He could call him and tease him about the fact that in their half-hour long conversation, the sequel wasn’t mentioned at all, and Kaladin had bought this book under false pretenses. He could pester Renarin late into the night about the characters and the plot and the pretty dang cool world that the author had created.  
  
But he doesn’t have Renarin’s number, and it’s becoming a problem.  
  
He finds it really hard to believe that there was a time when he considered avoiding the bookstore and Renarin for the rest of his life. He finds it equally hard to believe that the opposite has become true, and he turns to Lopen and Sigzil for advice on how to fix this.  
  
“Easy, gancho,” Lopen says. “I’ve got a plan.”  
  
It’s a terrible plan. But they go with it anyway.  
  
\--  
  
The next day, Kaladin walks to the bookstore nervously, his hand wrapped tightly around the two slips of paper in his pocket. He’s worried that somehow they will get wet and the writing will be smudged and the plan will fail epically. There’s not really any way for them to get wet, as they are in his pocket under an umbrella, but still, he worries. He also worries that Renarin won’t be there.  
  
As it turns out, he isn’t. Shallan is though.  
  
“Sorry,” she says. “He’s off today.”  
  
“Ah,” Kaladin says. “Right.” He turns to leave.  
  
“I can help you, if you’re looking for something specific,” she says, and she smiles a bit, and Kaladin can’t help but feel that it’s an apology. Not that she could know that he’d heard her remark about shoplifting. But he decides to accept it.  
  
“Sure,” he says, relaxing a bit. “Renarin recommended a book to me the last time I was here, but he failed to mention it had a sequel.”  
  
“Ah,” Shallan says, smiling for real this time. “Yeah, he did that to me, too,” she says. And they laugh. “Did you want to murder the author for the cliffhanger?”  
  
“A bit, yeah,” Kaladin says. “It was a particularly nasty surprise at 4:30 in the morning after I’d stayed up all night feverishly trying to finish.” Shallan laughs again, and nods. She’s been typing at the computer terminal this whole time, and her face falls when she looks back down at the screen.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, it looks like we don’t have the sequel in,” she says. “I can order it for you, or I can call another store in the area, see if they have one in stock?”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” he says, deflating a bit. “I can’t get to any of the other stores...” he trails off. “How long would it take to get here?”  
  
“About three or four days, but I can’t guarantee that.”  
  
“Of course.” He hesitates. “Urgh, can I wait that long for a resolve to that cliffhanger, or am I going to have to scour the internet for spoilers?” he hedges. She smiles and shrugs. He can’t tell her that what he really means is can he wait that long to see Renarin? He runs an agitated hand through his hair and tells her to order it.  
  
As he’s leaving, it starts to rain.  
  
He curses when he realizes that he’s left his umbrella leaning against the information desk. He turns to go back the two blocks and get it when an umbrella emerges from the crowd on the sidewalk and covers him.  
  
“Hi,” a familiar voice says from under the umbrella. “You enjoy being caught in the rain, it seems.”  
  
A grin breaks out on Kaladin’s face when he recognizes Renarin. He laughs.  
  
“Yeah, it’s a bad habit,” he says. Renarin is smiling, too, and for a second they stand there under one umbrella, grinning at each other. Kaladin finally blinks and breaks the silence, gesturing at the umbrella. “I actually left mine at your store today,” he says. “I came to visit you but you weren’t there.”  
  
“Oh,” Renarin says, and the blush is back. “Yes. I don’t work Wednesdays.”  
  
“Oh,” Kaladin says. “I’d hate to keep you,” he says, “please, if you need to go, don’t mind me. I’m used to being a little rained on.”  
  
Renarin’s smile drops a few degrees. “Right,” he says. “I should...probably get going.” He waits a second longer.  
  
“Or we could go get coffee,” Kaladin says in a rush. Renarin blinks at him. “I mean, if you’re not busy. Or in a hurry. Or...storms, it’s your day off, I don’t want to waste your time, I just...thought...that, if you wanted, we could...hang out. Or. I don’t know.”  
  
Renarin blinks again, and the rain grows louder as it pounds down on his umbrella.  
  
“You want to get coffee with me?” he asks.  
  
“Um, yes?” Kaladin asks.  
  
“Right,” Renarin says. “I mean. I’m not busy, I...we...yes. I mean, I don’t actually know your name.” The hand not holding the umbrella is shaking, and Kaladin desperately wants to hold it.  
  
“I...” Kaladin pauses. “Right. Um. I’m Kaladin.”  
  
“Kaladin,” Renarin says, and he says it like he’s been waiting to say it for a long time. Like it’s a relief to finally say it out loud. Like he likes the way it rolls off his tongue. “Nice to meet you Kaladin.”  
  
Kaladin laughs. “I’m sorry about that,” he says.  
  
“No, it’s...well, that’s retail for you,” Renarin says. “Complicated. And awkward. And kind of stupid.” He shrugs. “It’s bad manners to not introduce yourself if you’re an employee, but the customer isn’t supposed to respond. I’m not allowed to tell people my schedule, even if it makes it easier for customers to find me when they want my suggestions. It’s creepy for a customer to approach an employee sometimes, but if they don’t then how will they ever get answers?” He pauses.  
  
“Retail sucks,” Kaladin says. Renarin lets out a breath in an explosion of laughter.  
  
“That’s the long and the short of it, isn’t it?” he says. Kaladin smiles.  
  
“The place across the street sells really nice sticky buns,” he says finally, “and they make a very good signature tea blend. You interested?”  
  
“...Yes,” Renarin says, smiling.  
  
“Good, because I want to complain to you about that cliffhanger.” A ghost of a wicked smile flits across Renarin’s face.  
  
“Oh, you finished book one, did you?”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me there was a sequel!? Why didn’t you tell me so I could just buy both and read them one on top of the other?”  
  
“Because this way you had to come to the store again when you finished,” Renarin says without thinking. He bites his lip as soon as it’s out, but Kaladin laughs. He blushes. “Sorry.”  
  
“No,” Kaladin says. “No, that was smooth. Shall we?” he gestures to the coffeeshop across the street. Renarin nods, and leads the way inside. They order Kaladin’s usual, and the barista grins openly to see them together. When Renarin gets up to answer a phone call after forty-five minutes of chatting, he comes over to the table and pokes Kaladin in the ribs.  
  
“Is that him?” Skar asks. Kaladin bats his hand away.  
  
“Shut up,” he says, craning to see Renarin across the room, making sure he’s not in earshot. “And yes. That’s him.”  
  
“Did Lopen’s plan work?”  
  
“Didn’t need to. I bumped into him on the street.”  
  
“Lucky.”  
  
“Sure,” Kaladin says. “Now go away before he comes back.”  
  
“Fine, but I’m texting everyone.” Kaladin winces, knowing there’s really no way to stop him. Before Skar can walk away, though, Renarin comes back apologizing.  
  
“I have to go. My dad is...well, it’s not serious, but it kind of is, but it’s...I’m sorry, but I have to go.”  
  
“Oh,” Kaladin says, blinking. “Right, okay, um. I hope everything’s okay.”  
  
“He’ll be fine, it’s just--” Thunder rumbles in the distance and Renarin winces, but continues putting on his coat. “It’s fine. I’m really sorry. I had a great time!” And he’s gone before Kaladin can say anything else.  
  
“Well,” Skar says, “maybe you will need Lopen’s plan anyway.”  
  
“What?” Kaladin says, watching Renarin’s retreating form out the window of the cafe.  
  
“Well, you still don’t have his number, do you?” Skar asks. Kaladin groans. His friend laughs and gives him a second sticky bun for free.  
  
\-----  
  
Three days later, Kaladin’s book comes into the store. Shallan calls him to let him know that it will be held behind the desk for the next two weeks, and he can pick it up any time he likes between now and then. He triple checks that it’s not Wednesday or raining and heads into town.  
  
He wanders around the usual sections he’s found Renarin in before, but there is no sign of him. He’s worried he picked the wrong time or the wrong day again when he spots him--in the same row he was shelving in the first day they spoke. Kaladin can’t help but smile at the strange circularity.  
  
“Excuse me,” he says, smiling, “can you help me find a book?”  
  
Renarin starts, almost dropping the book he’d been about to shelve. He smiles for an instant when he sees Kaladin, but there’s a guilty edge to his expression, and he fixes his eyes on something over Kaladin’s shoulder as he answers.  
  
“Of course, are you looking for something specific?”  
  
“Sort of,” Kaladin says, “I’m looking for a book that has a blue cover. There might have been a bird on it?” Renarin makes eye contact briefly, and there’s a mixture of confusion and amusement in his eyes.  
  
“Please tell me you have an author or a title?” Renarin asks. Kaladin smiles, perhaps a bit mischievously.  
  
“It was on that table about a month ago,” he points to the ever-changing new arrivals table, where they’d discussed the merits of the orange book several weeks back.  
  
Renarin sighs, and moves toward the computer station to begin digging up books that might match Kaladin’s description.  
  
“Is this payback for me running out on you like that?” Renarin asks guiltily. Kaladin smiles.    
  
“Of course not,” he says, leaning on the desk as Renarin logs into the system.  
  
“You know, you’d make my life easier if you had titles when you came looking.”  
  
“But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of watching your brow furrow as you concentrate on your search terms.”  
  
Renarin very obviously forces his expression into something that might have been neutral if it weren’t for the blush coloring his cheeks.  
  
“That’s cute, too,” Kaladin says. “I’m not mad, by the way. I hope your dad is okay. And I’ve got the title written here.” He hands Renarin a slip of paper, which has a string of seven numbers.  
  
“Um,” Renarin pauses, staring at the paper.  
  
“Oh, sorry,” Kaladin says, grinning. “Wrong paper. Here.” The second slip of paper has the title of last month’s bestseller, which just so happened to be called _Tea at Noon_. Kaladin had added a question mark.  
  
“You know,” Renarin says, leading Kaladin away from the desk and toward the stack of books he’d been shelving, “you might like this one better.” He hands him a book titled _Anytime, Anywhere_.  
  
Kaladin grins. “So, can I text you about the sequel while I’m reading it?” he asks.  
  
“This was all just a sneaky way to give me your number, wasn’t it?” Renarin asks. “You could have just...you know, given it to me.”  
  
“That wouldn’t have been as fun. Besides, this was the plan before you bumped into me on the street and I got to introduce myself and ask you out for coffee like a normal person.”  
  
“Well,” Renarin pauses, looking at the slip of paper. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”  
  
“That’s hardly professional of you,” Kaladin scolds, grinning.  
  
“This is even less professional,” Renarin says, and pulls a bit of scrap paper from the desk, writing his number down on it and handing it to Kaladin.  
  
“Alright,” Kaladin says. “Right, well...I’ll...text you.” Renarin smiles. His hands are shaking a bit, and this time, Kaladin reaches out and takes them in his own. The shaking stops. He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Before he can think about it or stop himself, he leans down and kisses Renarin very lightly, very gently, very quickly on the cheek, then disappears down the nearest row, making for the registers and leaving as quickly as possible.  
  
He doesn’t know it, but Renarin stands there for a few minutes, blushing and smiling.  
  
Five minutes later, he’s gotten two blocks away from the store when he hears footsteps running up behind him and turns. Renarin is out of breath, but grinning as he catches up.  
  
“My shift actually just ended,” he says breathlessly, “and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out for coffee. With me. Right now. And this time I wouldn’t leave halfway through a really interesting conversation. I promise.”  
  
Kaladin smiles.  
  
“I...think I would like that very much.”  
  
“Yes?” Renarin says, and his smile grows, if possible, even bigger. “Yes. Okay! Right, um.” He turns to scan the street, looking for the cafe they went to last time. Kaladin laughs and holds out his hand. Renarin hesitates for a second before slipping his fingers between Kaladin’s, and following him across the street and into the welcoming warmth of the cafe and the conversations to come.

**Author's Note:**

> As far as I know, there aren’t any bestsellers actually called “Tea at Noon” or “Anytime, Anywhere”, and I didn’t have any particular series in mind for Renarin’s cliffhanger-ful fave. The “orange book” gag, however, is based on very real life experience in which--back when I worked at a bookstore--I had at least six different people ask me for “the orange book my friend recommended to me.” It was always The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. I don’t know why or how or what, but without fail, that was the orange book. So I had to put it in here.
> 
> (I did also have a person ask me for “the blue book with the bird on it that was on that table a month ago” once. I don’t remember what it was actually called though. Hence I got to make something up for Kaladin that actually worked in the story.)


End file.
